


The Way Back

by Carbynn



Series: Time Is No Healer [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Ed-typical Swearing, Established Relationship, M/M, No Actual Babies Were Harmed In The Making Of This Fic, Other, Pining But Not In The Usual Way, Questionable Alchemy, Questionable everything, So Much Angst Im Sorry Guys, Travel, Very Questionable Fight Scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 19:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14599857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carbynn/pseuds/Carbynn
Summary: Roy’s clothes are scattered on the floor, mostly empty save for something small huddled in his shirt. There’s no blood, nothing charred, no bones or teeth or hair, and whatever it is seems to be moving. Ed reaches out with his metal hand but before he can make it, a small head pops out of the neck hole of Roy’s shirt and giggles.The baby, and that’s what it is, isn’t it, a toddler, small and black-haired with two functional eyes, crawls to Ed as soon as the shirt’s undone and immediately begins trying to leverage himself into his lap as Ed blinks down at him in disbelief.“Roy?” he hazards.





	The Way Back

**Author's Note:**

> Once, at long long time ago, Iginita and I were bemoaning how few common fandom tropes were present in the world of Royed fic, including the ancient and hallowed de-aging fic. Hence, the idea for this fic was born, and it was born so hard that I already have the sequel planned. 
> 
> A multi-chaptered fic? From Carbynn? With a sequel? I know, try to control your shock. Turns out I'm actually still capable of more than smutty one-shots!

“You’re still worried about it, aren’t you?”

Roy’s breath tickles the back of Ed’s neck and he shivers delicately, his body reacting instinctively to Roy’s presence even as his mind continues to whirr with anxiety.

“No. ‘M fine.”

“Ed, please. Give me a little bit of credit.” Roy’s hand skims up Ed’s side, fingers rippling over his ribs, before his palm settles over Ed’s heart. “I’ve known you long enough to tell when something is weighing on you.”

Damn Roy to hell for knowing him so well. “Well why the fuck wouldn’t I be worried about it? Your piece of shit military’s putting me on _trial,_ and I’m gonna _keep_ worrying about it until the damn thing’s over and I’m either in jail, dead, or back here.”

His brief return after a two year absence in which he’d subverted an earthly attempt at royally fucking things over apparently had done little to soothe the frothing vehemence with which the Amestrian military yearns to see him brought low for his disappearance after the coup.

Go fucking figure.

It had taken another two years after landing back on earth with Al to figure out how to both return to the correct dimension and restore Al’s memories, and then another two years after that for things to settle, although nothing ever settled where Ed was concerned and it was only luck and Roy’s influence that had managed to keep Ed out of a military prison for as long as they’d managed it.

It’s only natural, he figures, that they’d have ended up here, curled up together in Roy’s bed they way they were every night, their routine soft and domestic and sickeningly, stupidly _sappy_. It is, when Ed allows himself to admit it, something he’s wanted for longer than he cares to think about. There had always been a sort of pull, a sort of tension between them that had evolved into something, as Ed got older, that he couldn’t ignore no matter how hard he’d tried. Years away, years spent thinking and regretting and _wondering_ had only made ignorance more difficult, and the endless evenings spent pouring over legal documents and redacted copies of military correspondence with Roy in his study had eventually led to a break in the tension and the beginning of something new.

Not that it was new anymore. Ed had been a permanent fixture in Roy’s home for almost a year and a half, ever since Al’s studies had carried him off to Xing just before everything with the military had gone to shit and Roy had laid everything on the line in offering Ed the other side of his mattress in a more permanent capacity.

As if Ed could have even dreamed of turning him down.

“It isn’t the military, it’s what’s left of Bradley’s old guard,” Roy tells him for what must be the thousandth time, as if it makes a single lick of fucking difference who it is exactly who is trying to lock him up. “And I’ve told you, I’ve got it under control. Someone will be behind bars by the time this is all said and done and it isn’t going to be you. That’s a promise. You trust me, don’t you?”

 _With my life_ , Ed doesn’t say. It doesn’t need to be said. It undercuts every nuance of their interaction, paints their words and settles into and seals every crack in the foundation of their relationship. “Fuckin’ hate this,” he mutters instead. “Nothing’s ever easy. Nothing ever just… works. I’m a bad fuckin’ penny, Mustang, I don’t know why you even bother with me. ‘M not worth all this shit.”

Roy’s arms tighten around him, one of his hands seeking out Ed’s flesh one and twining their fingers together. The ring on Roy’s finger clinks softly against the one on Ed’s and the familiar press of it is reassuring in a way that Ed can’t describe.

Roy had called them promise rings, but Ed wasn’t sure what it was he was supposed to be promising. It's not like they can get married, not in Amestris where two men holding hands is enough to raise eyebrows, and not just because one of those hands is metal.

Roy had slipped on the ring on his finger and said, ‘I love you,’ and Ed had said, ‘I won’t leave again,’ which amounted to pretty much the same thing when it came right down to it.

“You’re worth all this and more, Edward. I’ve already lost you twice, I won’t allow it to happen for a third time,” Roy says, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck.

Ed blows out a long sigh and tucks his head against Roy’s shoulder. “I don’t know what kinda dirt you have on them but it better be fuckin’ good.”

“Evidence,” Roy murmurs as he tips his head down to trail lips over the curve of Ed’s exposed throat. “Years of evidence that even they can’t talk themselves out of. Plots against you, plots against the military, plots against Amestrian interests across our borders. This trial is a farce, and I intend to let everyone know just how deep the jest runs.” The vibration of Roy’s lips against Ed’s throat as he speaks sends a little shiver cutting through him and he can feel those lips curving into a smirk against his skin.

“If you think you’re gonna distract me you’re sorely fuckin’ mistaken.” There isn’t much fire in it, not much determination, and Ed’s more than a little sure that a distraction is actually just the thing he needs.

Roy, the asshole, just hums and sucks gently over Ed’s pulse, pulling a sharp little gasp from him. “Mmh, is that so?” he purrs, skimming his hand down Ed’s stomach. The muscles twitch beneath his palm and Ed might have cursed him if he didn’t like what he was doing so much, damn him. “I think I’m quite capable of distracting you, actually. I think you even want me to.”

Roy’s hand slides down to press against the growing hardness in Ed’s pajama pants and he can’t even dream of biting back the little moan that escapes him. “Bastard,” he gasps.

“Your bastard, darling, don’t ever forget.”

Ed’s protest at the pet name is swallowed in another cry as Roy’s fingers work their way into his pajama pants and underwear and wrap around his cock, giving it a firm, steady stroke. Ed doesn’t bother hiding his moan and his hips jerk forward of their own accord, seeking out more contact.

“ _Bastard,_ ” he says again, moaning around the word. Roy’s free hand begins working his bottoms down over his hips.

“Do you want me to stop?” Roy’s breath is hot against his neck.

“You better fuckin’ not.”

Roy’s laugh sends a spiral of shivery little vibrations down Ed’s spine. “Lift up a little,” he urges, and Ed complies, allowing Roy to push his pants the rest of the way down and off of him. The chill of the air settles against his skin and he shudders under Roy’s warm hand as it tracks a path across the curve of his ass. “Don’t worry love, I’ll make this easy for you. You don’t even have to move.”

“Plannin’ on doing all the work yourself, huh?” Ed asks, just a touch breathlessly as Roy moves away for a moment to rifle through the bedside table. “Seems like I’m getting the better end of this deal.”

“Your end is certainly remarkable,” Roy purrs, sliding up behind him again and smoothing a hand over his hip. “Lift your leg for me, darling.”

“Not your fucking darling,” Ed grumbles but complies anyway, swinging his leg back and hooking it backwards over Roy’s hip, exposing himself.

Roy doesn’t say anything, just slides a slick finger down the length of the crack of his ass and Ed hisses through his teeth, rocking back against it. Roy’s a fucking tease, always has been and will be until the day he dies, probably, but there is very little teasing tonight. Roy’s finger sinks into him without preamble and Ed moans and arches back against Roy’s chest.

“I’ve got you, love,” Roy murmurs. He works him open slowly and carefully, stoking the fire of Ed’s arousal until Ed can hardly stand to wait any longer. He’s arching back into his hand and trembling with need and finally, _finally_ Roy’s fingers disappear and even though he’s craving what comes next, the loss still draws a whimper from him. “I’ve got you,” Roy repeats as he shifts and moves behind him, and he’s pushing in slowly and Ed’s whole body arches into it until Roy’s firmly seated and Ed’s frantic whimpers have reached a fever pitch.

“ _Move,_ ” he manages to demand, and Roy’s grip on his hips turns bruising as he complies.

It’s slower than Ed wants but Roy’s lips tracing a line between his ear and his throat make it almost worth it. Roy’s drawing it out on purpose, angling his hips just enough to keep Ed balanced on that knife’s edge of pleasure without letting him fall into it.

Ed loses himself to it, drowns in it while everything around him fades away until the only thing left is the heat of Roy’s body and Roy’s hand and Roy’s lips as he pants nonsense into Ed’s ear. He can’t see his face, doesn’t need to see it to know what it looks like, flushed and pink, cut with the dark lines of his hair falling over his eye. Ed’s seen it enough and it’s burned into his memory. Everything about Roy is burned into him, and it only makes sense because Roy himself is fire, bright and hot and all-consuming. His alchemy’s just a bonus, like some kind of cosmic pun, because the universe put fire in his blood long before he could make it.

Ed doesn’t even realize how close he is when Roy whispers, “Come for me,” in his ear like it’s a fucking prayer and Ed tips over the edge with a cry, arching back against Roy and whiting out as his release overtakes him.

Roy isn’t far behind, and by the time Ed’s back in his own head, Roy’s already pulled out of him and his forehead is pressed against the back of his shoulder and hot, panted breaths ghost across Ed’s sweat-slick skin.

He’s still trying to sort out his coordination but he manages to fumble for Roy’s hand and knit their fingers together anyway. Anything more complicated is beyond him.

Roy squeezes Ed’s hand and lets them rest on Ed’s stomach for a moment while he catches his breath before gently detangling their fingers and moving to reach for Ed’s discarded pajamas bottoms. He cleans the smeared come from Ed’s stomach as well as he can and throws the pants over the side of the bed half-heartedly. “That’ll do for now.”

Ed hums and reaches for Roy’s hand again, shifting a little bit to make himself more comfortable. Roy’s free hand drags the blanket up and over them and he settles in against Ed’s back.

“Try to get some rest, love,” he murmurs. “No more worrying tonight, all right?”

“Yeah, I guess. No more worrying.” Ed’s too tired to worry about worrying anyway.

Roy’s grip on his hand tightens a little and it’s comfortable, familiar and warm and safe.

Of course everything’s going to be all right. Roy’ll make sure of it.

 

 

Morning always brings with it the sort of quiet, sappy domesticity that Ed had never allowed himself to imagine. The messy kiss and Roy’s mumbled ‘good morning’ as he rolls out of bed and makes for the shower is nearly routine. Ed’s groaning reply and half-assed attempts to fall back asleep while Roy works his way through getting washed and dressed for work is equally routine, as is the strong smell of fresh coffee that inevitably draws him out of bed and down into the kitchen where Roy, polished and professional in his uniform, accursed eye patch affixed firmly over his head, sits blowing steam from a coffee mug over his morning paper.

“There’s toast for you on the counter,” Roy says, nodding to the counter in question. He’s left out a mug for him too, already filled with the appropriate amount of sugar and really, how had Ed ever ended up so fucking lucky?

He manages a caffeine-deprived ‘thanks,’ and brushes his lips against Roy’s temple on his way past as he makes his bleary way to the counter and manages to fill the mug without sloshing coffee all over the counter top.

“I hope that’s enough sugar,” Roy says, eyeing him over the paper as he downs a too-hot mouthful without even grimacing.

“You know it is, you cheeky bastard. You pro’ly even weighed it out gram for gram.” Ed snatches the plate of toast off the counter and settles in at the little table across from Roy, stretching his legs out until the flesh one knocks against Roy’s calf. “Anything good in there today?” he asks, waving his automail vaguely towards the paper. “I don’t see that little wrinkle between your eyes so it can’t be anything too awful.”

“Nothing too offensive today.” Roy nudges his leg gently against Ed’s. “The undesirables as a collective whole must be too busy trying to figure out how to deal with you to worry about making this country any worse.”

“What  a fuckin’ compliment,” Ed says flatly. He gulps down another swallow of coffee and starts in on the toast. “Wonder what they’ll do with themselves when this shit’s all said an’ done. They’ll either have to start prison riots or find someone else to pick on after they’ve finally managed to off me.”

“No one’s offing you, Edward,” Roy says sternly, knocking his leg against Ed’s a little bit harder. “I wish you’d stop talking like that.”

“’M just bein’ realistic.” Ed manages around a mouthful of toast. “My luck never holds. I’m a jinx.”

Roy sighs softly and shuffles his paper closed. “You’re not a jinx. Your string of bad luck is over, I promise. This trial is a farce, everyone knows it. Why do you think it has taken them two years to bring up charges? The maneuvering it took to even find a way to charge you should be indication enough to any reasonable—“

“No one in the military is fuckin’ reasonable.” Ed shoves another triangle of toast into his mouth and follows it with a swig of coffee. “At least, almost no one is. I sure hope this master plan of yours rides on a lot more than that.”

“You’re going to be _fine._ ” Roy glances at the clock, sighs again, and stands with a luxurious stretch that elongates his body in a way that doesn’t quite escape Ed’s notice. “I had better be going.”

Ed follows suit, cramming the last bit of toast into his mouth and hurriedly downing the last of his coffee before following Roy out into the living room.

It’s something of a ritual to see Roy off this way, something like ‘good luck’ and ‘I love you’ tied together. Ed yanks Roy’s greatcoat off of the coat rack in the hall and drapes it over his shoulders, brushing a little stray bit of lint off of the lapel with his flesh hand. Roy turns and leaned down to catch Ed in a warm kiss, curling his arm lightly around his waist and drawing him in until they’re pressed close together, the warmth of Roy’s body sinking into Ed through the thin material of his pajamas.

Ed shivers just as Roy draws away, the greatcoat somehow still balancing on his shoulders. He brushes his thumb across Ed’s bottom lip and tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“Any grand plans for the day, love?” he asks, the way he always asks, and Ed almost doesn’t hate the pet name anymore.

“Gonna write to Al, try again to talk him outta comin’ back for my stupid trial, maybe work a little more on my article. Keepin’ my head down, as usual.” Some days, staying cooped up in Roy’s house is enough to make him crawl out of his skin, but he understands the need for it. Understands that people are out to get him and even though he can goddamn take care of himself, it isn’t fair to make Roy worry. Understands that no institution worth its salt will even think of hiring him, despite the name and the accomplishments and the reputation, with the specter of a military trial hanging over his head. Understands that even after two years back in his own universe, he still hasn’t quite found a way to fit back into it.

“You won’t have to for much longer,” Roy promises, shrugging his arms into the sleeves of his coat properly. “This will all be over soon.”

“I know.” Ed knocks Roy’s hands away as he begins doing up the buttons on the coat and starts working them closed himself. “’S fine. I knew shit would be kinda touch and go for awhile after I came back.” He does up the last button and pats Roy’s chest. “You’re gonna be late.”

Roy catches Ed’s face in his hands and kisses him gently. “Until tonight.”

“’Till tonight,” Ed repeats. “Be safe.”

“Of course.” Roy smiles, drops a kiss on the top of Ed’s head, and then disappears down the front walk and into the morning.

Ed watches him in the doorway, as he always does, until he makes it to the sidewalk and then shuts the door behind him and turns back in to the empty house.

 

 

Ed is awoken later by a warm kiss to his forehead and a gentle hand carding through his hair.

“Time’s’it?” Ed mumbles. Roy’s face comes into view as he blinks his eyes open and the room around him is dark.

“A little after eight.” Roy tugs gently on the book in Ed’s hands and Ed relinquishes it without complaint. “I had to stay late at the office. Have you eaten? There’s takeout in the kitchen.”

The prospect of food has Ed a little more awake and he sits up and stretches, the automail popping as it extends over his head. “You work too hard,” he says, rolling his shoulders once before rising to his feet. “You’re gonna run yourself ragged.”

“You fell asleep reading and my study has been stacked with loose-leaf paper and dog-eared alchemy journals for over a month.”

“Research doesn’t count.” He curls his fingers in the wool lapel of Roy’s uniform and tugs him down into a quick, soft kiss. “’S not work if it’s fun.”

Roy rolls his visible eye fondly and curls an arm around Ed’s waist to tug him a little closer. “Only you could find entertainment in pure research.”

“I find entertainment in a lot of things,” Ed says with a careless little shrug, tossing his loose hair _just so._

Ed catches the moment the gleam sparks in Roy’s eye and it _thrills_ him, still thrills him after years, will probably thrill him forever. “Is that so?” he purrs.

“Yep.” Ed smirks and frees himself from Roy’s hold. “Dinner especially. What’d you bring me?”

The gleam dies, just a little, but Ed’s certain that Roy won’t forget this later. “I stopped by the kebab place you like down the street from headquarters. I think I even managed to buy enough for both of us.”

Roy takes his jacket off and leaves it on the hook in the hallway as they pass through it towards the kitchen and picks up the small stack of mail Ed left for him off of the little table by the door.

“It all looked like junk today,” Ed says as Roy props his hip against the kitchen counter and begins thumbing through the envelopes. “I think there mighta been something there from the pension office. You thinkin’ of retiring already? I mean, I know you’re _ancient_ but I thought you were aiming for the hot seat.”

Roy pulls the envelope in question out of the stack and tosses the rest haphazardly on the counter while Ed begins to rifle through the cabinet for plates. “It’s probably a summary of my accumulated benefits. They send me a statement from time to time when they can be bothered to remember.”

Ed snorts and sets the plates on the counter before going for the takeout bag and starting work on distributing the contents. “Well-oiled military machine my _ass._ ”

Roy tears open the envelope and begins unfolding the paper with an air of abject disinterest. “What a horrible thing to say, Edward. The Amestrian military is extremely proficient in being awful at being proficient.”

Ed only sees the circle out of the corner of his eye.

“Roy! Don’t—“ He upsets the plates on the counter as he spins and makes a grab for the paper and one crashes to the floor, but the sound of shattering porcelain is lost to his ears as the array on the paper in Roy’s hand lights up and bathes him in a sickly electric green and he’s too late.

Roy lets out a cry and Ed is torn between making a grab for the paper and reaching for him but manages to get a hand on both the paper and on Roy’s arm as he crumples to the floor, dragging Ed to his knees. The array is fading on the paper and he can only just make out a symbol, one small looping curl in the corner, and barely has time to recognize that it’s Aerguan in origin before it disappears completely and the heat against his other hand, the flesh one, forces him to pull away from Roy all together.

He can barely see through the blinding glare of the green light but Roy’s figure is twisting, changing, and Ed doesn’t even know how to process the sick, biting horror that rises up like bitter bile in the back of his throat. He barely has time to let it sink in, to understand that he is probably losing everything he has, that Roy is _dying_ and there’s nothing he can do to stop it, nothing he can do to reverse the array and set things to rights, before the light fades and the kitchen is once again still and quiet.

He’s blinking the light out of his eyes frantically because he has _see_ , even if it’s horrible, even if it’s nothing but a charred scrape on the floor, even if it’s nothing, because he has to know. He has to grieve.

Roy’s clothes are scattered on the floor, mostly empty save for something small huddled in his shirt. There’s no blood, nothing charred, no bones or teeth or hair, and whatever it is seems to be moving. Ed reaches out with his metal hand but before he can make it, a small head pops out of the neck hole of Roy’s shirt and _giggles._

“Ed!”

Little hands are pressing against the shirt in an attempt to reach him and Ed moving to disentangle the shirt before what he’s seeing even settles in his mind as truth.

The baby, and that’s what it is, isn’t it, a _toddler_ , small and black-haired with two functional eyes, crawls to Ed as soon as the shirt’s undone and immediately begins trying to leverage himself into his lap as Ed blinks down at him in disbelief.

“Roy?” he hazards.

“Woy!” the toddler responds, taking small fistfuls of Ed’s shirt and clinging to him. “I’m Woy. Me.”

It shouldn’t be possible. There were theories of course, and he’d run into quite a few of them when he was researching ways to get Al back into flesh but as far as he knew, no one had ever been successful. Alchemical gene modification was tricky, dangerous, and so close to that knife’s edge of the borderline of human transmutation that even charting theory was difficult.

It shouldn’t be possible, but then, his life had been a revolving door of impossible things and his current lapful was a difficult piece of evidence to argue with.

Panic quickly fills in the gap that horror had recently vacated.

He’s breathing so hard and so fast he think he might actually pass out. And it’s not like this is even the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, but in the moment it almost feels like it. The small hands pressing against his chest don’t even anchor him and he’s in danger of spiraling off, but a high, panicked voice drags him back.

“Ed!” The kid sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. Ed’s horror must be rubbing off on him and the guilt that realization saddles him with is more than he knows how to handle.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Ed says, and his hand shakes as he pats the kid’s back because nothing about this is even remotely fucking okay.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Ed assures. “Hey, why don’t we get you something to wear, huh? You’re gonna get cold like that.”

“I’m naked,” Roy chimes in with a grin, his earlier distress forgotten.

The clothes are a distraction, but Ed’s happy to grasp at anything to keep the creeping dread at bay. He shifts the baby, _Roy_ , over to the floor next to him and considers the pile of clothes for a moment before clapping and pressing his hands against them. They reconfigure and shrink, excess material piling into a small mound of coiled strings off to the side and he’s left with a serviceable, toddler sized outfit.

He stares at it for a long moment, for too long if the way the little Roy starts to fuss at his side is any indication, even if the little burst of light from the transmutation was enough to make him coo and giggle excitedly before it faded away.

The pants and shirt are so _small._

It strikes him completely, then, that this is actually happening, and the foundation upon which his life had been standing for two years had crumbled into nothing in the blink of an eye, and certainly, _certainly_ it’s all his fault. The array had come inside military stationery and the military was intent on fucking with him, and it didn’t take much of Ed’s considerable genius to put the pieces together.

He always hurts the ones he loves, one way or another.

An insistent tug on his shirtsleeve drags him out of his quiet misery. “Naked,” little Roy says again.

“Sorry,” Ed says, making a grab for the little outfit. “Can you lift your arms?”

Roy complies without complaint and Ed lets out a little breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. At least Roy isn’t going to make this difficult.

He slips the shirt over Roy’s head and then helps him into the little pants which thankfully don’t need much adjustment

 “Not bad, huh?”

“Not bad,” Roy repeats, patting his chest. It’s an endearing little gesture and Ed should be charmed, but all he can feel is complete and total anguish. It’s enough to drown him and he feels helpless under the weight of it, even though he’s faced down worse than this. At least Roy’s whole. At least he’s still inhabiting a flesh-and-blood body. At least he’s _alive._ Alive, Ed can work with, and he’s faced down a hell of a lot worse than toddler. He’s always liked kids, anyway.

“Okay,” he says, blowing out a long breath and pushing away everything in his head that isn’t sheer fucking will and focus. “Okay, we’re gonna figure this out. It’s gonna be all right, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Roy screeches, and, okay, maybe Ed’s a _little_ charmed. “It’s gonna be awight, Ed.”

Ed knows that the kid has no idea what he’s talking about but it’s reassuring anyway and Ed finds himself wondering just how much of his Roy is left inside this child. The idea that he might remember anything too adult is terrifying and sickening all at once, but Ed’s grateful, at least, that he remembers who he is.

“What’d you do today, kiddo?” he asks, watching Roy carefully.

Roy’s little face scrunches up as he struggles to remember. “I seen a dog!” he says finally, lighting up. “Wiza’s dog! An’, uhm…” The scrunch is back. “Uhm, I dunno.”

It’s something, but it’s not clear-cut and Roy had trouble recalling. It gives him hope that other memories might be equally as foggy, and so far Roy hasn’t acted like he thinks a kid would act if he remembered anything like what they’d gotten up to the night before. He thinks, for now, that it’s better not to pry.

He’s reminded, too, that he’s probably going to have to let Hawkeye know what’s going on.

“Hey kiddo, wanna help me make a phone call?”

“The phone?” Roy wrinkles his nose _just so_ and it looks so much like his Roy’s expression that Ed’s heart squeezes and he has to redouble his efforts to push away the loss. “I don’ fink so.”

Well, at least some things never change. “Once a lazy bastard always a lazy bastard, huh?” He wills himself to stand and offers out a hand. “Come on, you don’t get a choice here, I’m not leaving you alone.”

Roy’s grumbling but takes his hand anyway, and Ed swears he hears a muffled ‘bassard’ somewhere in all that discontentment. He’s gonna have to remember to watch his fucking mouth.

He walks Roy through the kitchen and back out into the entryway. The phone’s on the other side of the door and he has to dig Roy’s little phone book out of the drawer on the little table and flip through it to find Hawkeye’s number while Roy busies himself toying with the shiny silver buttons on the greatcoat. It seems impossibly big now compared to the smaller version of the man who wore it home not even twenty minutes ago. It makes Ed feel small too, small and helpless in a way he’s never felt helpless before, and _nothing’s_ allowed to make him feel fucking small.

The line rings out and catches in his ear, and Hawkeye’s voice crackles through the receiver.

“Hello?” Her tone is even but Ed can hear a faint little twist of concern. Probably, unexpected phone calls herald bad news and Ed’s sorry he can’t be an exception.

“Hey Lieutenant. Um. Sorry to bother you. Something… Um.” Ed wants to just get it over with, rip the bandage off, but the words stick in his throat. “Something happened.” It’s lame and it’s probably way more worrying than it needs to be and Ed’s kicking himself for being too fucking weak to even eke out an explanation without risking absolute collapse.

Hawkeye, to her credit, doesn’t sound as frantic as he’s expecting, but then, he can’t remember if he’s ever heard her frantic. “What happened, Edward? Are you and the general both alright?”

“Fine, I mean. We’re both… alive.” Ed hazards a glance at Roy. He’s hiding behind the greatcoat and only his tiny bare feet are sticking out. “Roy got some kind of fake statement from the pension office and there was an array in it. He touched it before I could stop him and he’s… I mean, I don’t know how it happened and I just barely got to see the array before it faded away but somehow he got reverted back to a kid. Three years old if I had to guess. He’s… I mean, he’s fine but…” Ed’s not sure if he’s on the verge of tears or on the verge of screaming. “He’s probably not gonna make it into the office tomorrow,” he finishes lamely, and he hopes that if Hawkeye’s noticed how much his voice is wavering that she’ll be too good to point it out.

There’s silence for a moment before Hawkeye speaks again. “Can you reverse it?”

“I don’t know.” It cuts through the air around him like a curse. “I don’t know, but I’m gonna fucking try.”

 

 

If it were Ed’s decision, he’d climb straight into bed with the last of Roy’s good bourbon and drink himself into a deep, dreamless sleep. As it stands, he doesn’t think alcohol is particularly conducive to childcare, and the kid had started complaining about being hungry as soon as he’d set the phone back on the cradle after his brief conversation with Hawkeye.

Hawkeye had done her best to reassure him but she hadn’t quite managed to hide the undertone of ‘ _very fucking bad_.’ Not that Ed had expected to be reassured. Nothing about this fucking situation is reassuring.

Well, the bag of kebabs, still on the kitchen counter where Roy had left them, is a pretty reassuring sight. Ed doesn’t think he could keep it together enough to actually sit tiny Roy down at the table and _cook something_. He hopes, at least, that this version of Roy still has the same taste buds.

Ed moves to lift Roy into one of the chairs at the kitchen table but Roy, stubbornly, sets his chin and crosses his arms.

“I can do it, Ed,” he says imperiously, and climbs into the chair without another word. “See?”

“I shouldn’t have doubted you,” Ed says, trying his best to sound impressed because kids love that, right?

_Fuck._

Roy seems pleased and Ed trusts he’s stable enough that he’s not gonna slide off the chair in the time it’ll take to turn and pull down some plates so he does, making sure to forgo the expensive Xingese dinnerware that Roy has a special fondness for and go for the cheap set instead. It’s not like he can’t fix it if Roy’s tiny counterpart smashes it on the floor but Ed still hasn’t forgotten the argument they got in the last time Ed had tried that.

Ed will maintain until his dying day that the bastard’s remaining eye isn’t so good that he can spot a fault in the porcelain even after an alchemical fix, and Ed will also maintain that his alchemical fixes _don’t have fucking faults anyway, thanks._

Bastard.

All at once, Ed’s overcome with a crippling wave of loss.

He’d hated arguing with Roy. They’d bicker, of course, that was a given with them, but the full on arguments took a toll on him and always made him feel something like inferior, like Roy could do better, like Roy was just suffering him and that one day he’d realize that Ed was just some stupid, broken kid and go out and find someone better. Now, he’d argue with Roy a hundred times over if it would mean getting him back the way he’s supposed to be.

The plate he dropped earlier is still scattered across the kitchen floor in front of the counter and he has to maneuver around it to get back to the table. He should fix it, probably, put it back where it belongs and clean up the little cloth ribbons leftover from transmuting Roy’s clothes to fit his smaller body, but he finds he can’t summon enough energy to even think of the array.

He’s about to leave the mess completely when he spots something shining on the floor up against the baseboard of the counter. He knows what it is before he even bends to pick it up but somehow he still ends up staring at Roy’s ring on his palm like it’s the first time he’s ever seen it.

It _is_ the first time he’s seen it off of Roy’s hand since he put it on him and that in and of itself is enough to make the familiar shape of it seem foreign. It’s cold in his hand, the warmth of Roy’s skin having long faded away, and Ed’s warring with equal desires to chuck it across the room and to hold it tight and never let go.

He settles for retrieving one of the ribbons of fabric on the floor and looping it through the ring. It’s far too big to wear on his finger (not because he’s _small_ , but because Roy’s hands are _freakishly large,_ ) and the idea of resizing it with alchemy seems wrong somehow. He’s going to keep it as is, keep it close, so if he manages to get Roy back to normal - _when_ he manages to get Roy back to normal- it will be ready for him.

Ed struggles for a moment to get his metal hand to cooperate as he knots the ends of the ribbon together but he manages it, finally, and slips it on over his head. It rests, quite accidently but quite aptly, right over his heart. Roy would probably melt if he could see it; he’s such a sucker for sentimental crap.

As it stands, this new, smaller Roy doesn’t make much of a fuss. He carefully adjusts the plate Ed lays in front of him and points to one of the kebabs that Ed spreads out on a napkin for him to choose from, even mumbling a polite little ‘fank you’ when Ed moves it to the plate.

“Eat up kiddo,” he says, taking a few of the kebabs for himself even though he’s pretty bereft of an appetite.

He picks through his plate while Roy makes a mess of his own but manages, Ed thinks, to swallow at least most of his food.

It’s an unusually silent dinner, empty without Roy’s laugh and his stupid fucking jokes, cold without the press of his ankle against Ed’s under the table, but at least he’s not alone.

Roy makes an admirable attempt with a napkin and does at least get most of the mess cleaned off of his face and hands, which is something and it’s a lot more than Ed expected.

Ed stands and gathers up the plates. He dumps them in the sink to be dealt with later and quickly stuffs the leftovers into the refrigerator before turning his attention back to Roy. “Hey, what do you say we get you cleaned up and ready for bed?”

“’Kay,” Roy says, and holds his arms up to Ed, waiting expectantly.

“Um.” Ed’s frozen to the floor like his automail fucking melted into it. He doesn’t know how to maneuver this. Roy shouldn’t be asking to be picked up. Roy shouldn’t be small enough to be picked up.

“Ed, up pease.” Roy’s high voice is insistent and Ed’s resolve crumbles. It’s not like he’s going to be able to get through this without picking the kid up at least once, right? Best to just do it, get it over with, get an arm around Roy’s little body and hoist him up onto his hip without thinking too hard about it.

Roy settles against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Ed doesn’t find it quite so natural and has to adjust his entire stance to accommodate the new weight on his left side. Pity it doesn’t even out the weight from the automail on his right, but he’s been compensating for that for years.

He chooses to focus on the absolute bizarre nature of having to carry a very small Roy Mustang up the stairs and into the bathroom rather than the heartbreaking nature of it. He can wallow later, can curse the universe later, can scream and cry and rage later, or, more likely, he can push this all down and lock it away because he’s got shit to do. Research and work and a bunch of goddamn trouble, and he doesn’t have time to sit and feel sorry for himself even if it’s all he wants to do.

He settles Roy on the edge of the sink and makes sure he’s stable before wetting a wash cloth with warm water and starting in on the smeared, greasy mess that is Roy’s face. Roy fusses but doesn’t put up much of a fight and Ed’s so beyond grateful because he doesn’t think there’s enough left in him today to handle it.

Ed makes it all the way back to the bedroom, Roy back on his hip, before he realizes that he actually has no idea what to do. The floor’s a killer on his back but he supposes it will have to do because he’s sure as shit not going to make a kid camp out on hardwood if he can help it.

He moves to shift Roy off of his hip and onto the mattress (and thank _fuck_ he’d changed the sheets,) but Roy whines and tightens his hands in Ed’s shirt.

“Ed, no!”

He’s been lucky, he knows, to have avoided a tantrum so far but it seems like his luck’s just run the fuck out. Figures. That’s the common theme of the day. “You have to go to bed, kiddo, it’s late.”

“No!” Roy cries, redoubling his efforts to cling to Ed like he’s dangling him over a pit of lava instead of a mattress. He’s in tears now and the pitch of his screeching is cutting straight into Ed’s eardrums like a hot knife. “No, no, no! Don’ wanna seep! I wanna stay wif you!”

“I’m going to sleep too. I’ll be right here on the floor, I’m not going anywhere.”

This, evidently, isn’t enough to soothe Roy and he continues to wail and clutch at Ed’s shirt so viciously that he was surprised the kid hadn’t managed to rip out a seam.

“Okay, okay, just calm down, all right?” He sits on the edge of the bed and Roy seems to settle a little bit. He’s not screaming anymore but he’s still pulling on Ed’s shirt and crying. Giving in is probably the worst thing he can do as far as kid interaction goes but he just… can’t. Not tonight. “I’ll stay with you, okay kiddo? We’ll both sleep right here.”

Roy sniffs and his hands loosen marginally. “Gonna stay?”

“I’m gonna stay,” Ed confirms, and Roy finally allows himself to be disentangled from Ed’s arms and deposited on the mattress.

Roy settles himself in the middle of the bed and watches as he moves to turn out the light, like he believes Ed is going to make a run for it any second. He relaxes when Ed makes his way back over to the bed and climbs in on his usual side. He’s too tired to change, and it’s not like he hasn’t slept in worse things than day clothes anyway.

The evening has drained him completely and he hopes that maybe this will mean he’ll be able to actually sleep. His mind races as his head hits the pillow. There’s so much to do. Too much, maybe, to do on his own because at least last time he had to restore a body, he had Al to help him. Failure isn’t an option, though, will never be an option where Roy’s concerned because Roy is everything and Ed doesn’t want to think about how his life will crumble without him. It’s not even the trial, even though there’s no way that’s gonna go well without whatever ace Roy had in his sleeve, which is probably what the bastards were banking on.

He’s not sure why they didn’t just kill Roy. It would have been easier than crafting some kind of fucked up, should-be-impossible array and sneaking it into a fake letter. It seems like too much work, and it left one hell of a margin for error. The letter could have gotten lost in the mail, could have been opened by the wrong person, could have been discarded as junk and ignored. It’s too much, and there has to be more to it than what’s clear on the surface, but Ed doesn’t even know where to start.

Altering Roy with human transmutation would be a neat crime to pin on him in addition to the desertion, he supposes, and without Roy there to testify or present his evidence, there wouldn’t be much he could say in his own defense and, if the whole desertion thing didn’t stick, then human transmutation certainly would with tiny Roy as clear-cut evidence that it had happened, never mind that he didn’t have a hand in it at all.

Roy’s warm little back presses against Ed’s side as he shifts closer and Ed’s dragged back to the moment. It’s different, of course it is, having this tiny Roy snuggled against his side but it’s comforting, at least, to have him here, even if he’s not the same. Killing Roy would have been easier, but Ed’s eternally grateful to whatever fucked up bastard hatched this stupid goddamn plan because it means that Roy’s still here, and Ed has a chance to fix this.

“G’night kiddo,” he murmurs, dragging the blanket up over the both of them.

“Ed, you wove me?” Roy shifts and turns to look up at Ed in the dark.

“’Course I do.” Ed hesitates for a moment before raising a hand and rubbing small circles against Roy’s back.

“You wove me?” Roy repeats. “Ed wove me?”

“I love you,” Ed affirms, and Roy seems to settle. He snuggles a little closer and Ed lets his hand still on his back. “Get some rest, kiddo. We’ll get this figured out in the morning okay?”

“’kay,” Roy mumbles, sleepy and seemingly satisfied. “’Night. See you inna mornin’.”

Ed adjusts the blankets a little around them and closes his eyes, willing sleep to come. Morning is a good place to start new. Everything’s too fresh now, Ed’s too tired, and night, he knows, tints things in a different light than the brightness of morning.

 

 

The noise wakes Ed before it wakes Roy. It’s an unmistakable pound of heavy boots on the stairs, rhythmic as whoever it is makes their way up. It’s the middle of the fucking night and no one they know would be stupid enough to burst into Roy’s house without knocking.

A raw sense of danger cuts banishes the last traces of sleep and Ed’s wide awake. Roy’s still sleeping peacefully, and Ed’s adrenaline pounds through him so strong that he doesn’t even have time to think about why Roy’s so small before he’s scooping him up and pressing his palm over his mouth as he wakes.

“Can you keep quiet for me?” he whispers in Roy’s ear, and Roy nods once which is gonna have to be good enough. Ed drops his hand and shifts Roy around to his hip, and Roy’s already clinging to him tight which is damn good considering the footsteps are coming down the hall now, drawing closer with every second. “You hold on just as tight as you can.”

Roy has already started crying but he does as he’s told and Ed loosens his grip around him and claps to extend the blade in his automail just as the door smashes inward. Roy screams in his ear and his sobs turn into wails but Ed can’t lose focus.

The guy’s big, bigger than Ed was expecting even with the weight of his footfalls on the stairs, _Armstrong_ big, but Ed’s fast, even with the weight of Roy on his hip and he darts around the fist that comes at him. There’s a glint of steel as the knife clutched in it slashes past him, just barely missing, and Ed lashes out with the automail blade as he ducks underneath the man’s arm, noting the array he just barely sees tattooed on his forearm, and makes a dash for the door. There’s a bit of resistance as his arm comes away and he thinks he made a hit but he can’t stop to be sure.

Part of him, the old part, the part of him that will always be the Fullmetal Alchemist, screams at him to stay and fight. He not a fucking coward and he doesn’t fucking run, but there’s Roy to consider and he has to get him the hell away from here.

Ed thunders down the stairs as quickly as he can, holding Roy tightly with his flesh arm, and he’s nearly at the bottom when he’s momentarily blinded by a flash of alchemy. He barely manages to slow his momentum to stop them from careening into the fucking crater that’s just been blown into the floor.

He thinks fast, has to with the sound of heavy footsteps closing in behind him, and loosens his hold on Roy enough to clap and press his hands against the wall. He doesn’t give a fuck where the material’s coming from and he might just bring the house down on top of them but something stone pushes its way through and blocks enough of the stairway to buy him the time he needs to alchemize the hole at in the floor closed and dash across it.

The blast behind him signals the destruction of the barricade and the footsteps start back up. Ed’s not an idiot, and this guy’s forte is clearly some kind of explosion-based alchemy bullshit so he weaves a zigzag pattern across the floor. It’s not efficient speed-wise, but Ed manages to avoid two more attempts to turn him and Roy into craters themselves before the man seems to reconsider his game plan and comes rushing towards Ed.

It’s been awhile since Ed’s had to do anything like this, but his ear is still keen for the fight and he manages to drop out of the way and spin to face his attacker just as the blade slices through the air again. It dings against Ed’s automail shoulder, too close for comfort, and Ed kicks a leg out in an attempt to sweep the guy’s legs out from under him but he’s too slow and the guy stumbles back in time to avoid the brunt of it.

Ed’s on his feet again and making a dash through the living room towards the front door. It’s hanging open, and Ed allows himself a second to curse himself for sleeping through it, for being too comfortable, for losing his edge, before he steels himself back in the moment.

He takes the path of least resistance across the glass-top coffee table that’s settled between him and the entryway and he jumps over it. Roy screams and clutches Ed more tightly and there’s no fucking way the neighbors haven’t heard this shit.

His pursuer is less worried about the coffee table and simply kicks it out of the way with one booted foot, sending it slamming against the wall where it shatters. The split second that gives him to get ahead is enough to get him through the door. He makes a grab for his coat on the coat rack by the door and manages to both snag it and upset the coat rack behind him enough to send it flying into the attacker. It’s almost laughable, but the man is momentarily tangled and Ed makes it outside. He bundles the coat under the same arm that’s holding Roy and he _goes._

Part of him hopes that some of the neighbors have woken up and are milling around outside to see what all the fucking fuss is about, because surely the attacker wouldn’t try anything too fucking stupid in a crowd of perplexed onlookers, but the street is deserted and silent and he swears aloud before taking off in a dead run down the street towards the busy main road that intersects the residential street. Beyond the main road lies the meatiest part of Central City and if he stands any chance of evading this guy, density is what he’s going to need.

For a man his size, his attacker is surprisingly fast and seems to have the stamina to keep up. At least he’s not trying to blow any holes into the street.

Ed reaches the main road first, and his arm’s fucking aching from holding on to Roy for so long but he pushes on, darting out to cross just as a car cuts across the corner.

It’s the car that saves his ass, because it forces the guy behind him to screech to a halt and Ed escapes across all six lanes without a hitch and ducks around the side of a tall brick building, out of the guy’s line of sight.

He takes a moment to shift Roy and his coat to his opposite hip and get hold of him with the automail, relieving the strain on his flesh arm. The change creates a new strain, however, as the added weight to his already heavy automail nearly sends him falling sideways but he pulls himself together and breaks into another run.

The footfalls behind him sound far away but they’re there, and Ed’s incredibly grateful for the time he spent as a kid fighting and running through Central’s back alleys because it’s only that experience that gets him as far as it does without hitting a dead end. ‘Far’ seems to be a rundown, abandoned building with an insecure door at the end of a row of rundown, abandoned buildings and it looks like safety to him even though a stray gust of wind might be enough to bring the thing down around them.

He doesn’t see the other man but he can hear him, and he’s certain that Roy’s crying will give them away. He presses a hand over Roy’s mouth and soothes him as quietly as he can manage while he slips into the building and claps to repair the door, hoping the light of the alchemy doesn’t draw any undue attention.

He keeps his hand against Roy’s mouth and sidesteps the beam of streetlight cutting through a hole in the brick and just stands there in the dark, breathing hard, waiting. The pounding of the man’s boots against the pavement draws near and Ed’s adrenaline roars in his ears. They’re caught, he’s sure of it, but then the footfalls disappear. He doesn’t move, doesn’t believe it quite yet, but the minutes tick by and the footfalls never return and nothing happens and finally, finally he can breathe.

He drops his hand from Roy’s mouth and Roy, mercifully, is silent, but his face is still wet and he’s trembling in Ed’s hold.

“Hey,” he whispers, brushing a few stray tears off of Roy’s cheek. “It’s okay, kiddo. We’re okay now.”

“Ed, what?” Roy’s voice is so small and quiet that Ed barely hears him.

“I don’t know,” Ed admits. Maybe he’s trembling a little, too. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter right now because we’re okay, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” Roy agrees, but he sounds as uncertain as Ed sounds and he’s still crying. Ed doesn’t blame him.

He walks with Roy across the room to the corner furthest from the door and settles on the ground with his back against it, shifting Roy to his lap as he sinks down. Roy immediately wraps his arms around Ed’s neck and buries his face in his shoulder, and Ed shakes out his coat and drapes it over them. He’s still hot from the run but the cold of the night will sink in soon.

That accomplished, Ed wraps his arms around Roy and holds him tightly. “You did a good job you know,” he says, trying to find anything that might calm him down. “You did just what I told you and you didn’t let go.”

“Didn’ want the b-bad duy to det me.”

“I’m not gonna let anyone get you.” Ed tightens his hold on Roy a little bit more and buries his face in his hair, giving into the temptation. He can’t even begin to contemplate what might have happened if that guy’d gotten his hands on Roy. “I’m gonna keep you safe, okay kiddo? I don’t want you to worry about bad guys. I’ll fight ‘em all off with my bare hands if I have to.”

Roy nods against his shoulder but he doesn’t relax, and Ed’s at a loss. He has no idea how to handle this. What do you say to a kid who’s just been scared fucking shitless and probably traumatized?

In the end, he doesn’t say anything. He just keeps rubbing Roy’s back until the crying stops and he finally relaxes against Ed’s chest, not asleep, but close.

“I love you, kiddo,” Ed murmurs against Roy’s hair.

“Wove you, Ed.” This seems to have been just the right thing to say. Roy snuggles a little bit closer and blows out a little sigh, not quite content but at least, for the moment, calm and quiet.

Ed doesn’t have a fucking clue who it was that came after them and doesn’t much care, but the stakes have been set significantly higher. This is worse than personal, worse than an attempt to heft him with a worse crime than desertion. If that had been the motive, why bother with a night-time attack? Why bother with any of this?

Nothing makes any fucking sense, and Ed has no way of getting to the bottom of it, not on his own. The only hope he has of regaining any sense of normalcy and making a scratch on the surface of this big goddamn mystery lies in restoring Roy, and restoring Roy’s exactly what he intends to do.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a merMay themed fic idea I want to try to bang out before the end of this month + a Royed day project (I hope) so chapter two may be slightly delayed but I promise it's coming, and if all goes according to my outline, it's gonna be l o n g.


End file.
